by KrisBo5 » Sun May 13, 2007 6:12 pm
Title: Darkness Falls
Author: KrisBo5 (Kris, obviously)
Email address: Through the Board.
Feedback: If you feel so inclined.
Distribution: This story is the narrative form of four spec scripts; each is registered with the WGAw; please don’t publish it or reproduce it in any way, shape, or form. If for some reason you’d like to, just ask first. It’s the polite thing to do.
Spoilers: Season 6, “Entropy” and “Seeing Red” episodes. Everything else? Blame on me.
Rating: The story in its entirety: PG-13 to NC–17. This includes sex, violence, language.
Pairing: Willow and Tara, that goes without saying. However, Buffy and the others are here as well.
Disclaimer: I didn’t create these characters, Joss and crew. I’m just borrowing them for the story I did write.
Summary: The mythology surrounding the creation of the first Slayer.
Warning: Character death. Violence.
Note: I don’t know anything about magic, mages, etc., so excuse my errors; just go with it.
2nd Note: I want to use this note to explain (to apologize?) what has happened to Willow in this section. I have done a fair amount of research on the treatment of, as well as the torture of, POWs; treatment of women POWs is very different from that of men, and it is reflected in this section. I do not advocate violence against women, whether sexual, physical, mental, or emotional; I do not write about said violence for gratuitous reasons. For the purposes of my story, I have viewed Willow as a POW. . . and she has been treated as such. I apologize to anyone who is upset by the nature of this post, but I would not have written it if I did not believe it was an integral part of the plot and character development.
Darkness Falls, Part Four: Rise(A)
“Who is all-powerful should fear everything.” Pierre Corneille ‘Cinna’(1640), Act IV, Scene II
“What?” Buffy asked. Her eyes darted to the crystal once more before returning to Giles’. “What do you mean, ‘It’s Willow’?”
Giles shifted uncomfortably. “I think—”
Anya stepped closer to the table and leaned forward, taking a better look at the crystal. “Uh oh.”
Buffy and Giles turned to Anya. “What?” Buffy asked.
Anya gestured to the crystal. “Willow did that?”
“I think, yes,” Giles answered.
Anya shook her head. “Uh oh.”
“What oh, uh oh?” Buffy asked, a tinge of annoyance in her voice. She turned quickly, reached out and snatched the leather string from the table. She lifted the crystal up between them all, over the table and shook it. “What is this?”
Anya took a step back from the table. Giles held a hand up in a calming gesture. “Buffy, please—”
“What. Is. This.”
“Buffy,” Dawn said.
Buffy looked at her sister, then Giles. Taking a deep, centering breath, she gently held the string out to her former Watcher.
***
Tara pushed open the bedroom door and walked in, her arms swinging idly by her sides. A smile still graced her lips as she continued over the white carpet till she reached the foot of the bed. She stopped there, and looked down on the ‘slumbering’ form of Madrine. Her smile blossomed, and she laughed out loud.
“Madam?”
Tara turned around, finding Mr. Bellum standing just inside the door. “Yes?”
“Is everything as you like?”
“Oh, yes. . . quite.”
Mr. Bellum tipped his head slightly. “Wonderful, Madam.”
“The Children were right, Mr. Bellum.” Tara raised her hands and touched her fingers to the sides of her head. “I can feel it.”
Mr. Bellum hinted a smile and tipped his head once more. “Wonderful, Madam.”
Tara lowered her arms and turned away from him. She walked over to the vanity and placed her hands on the table top. Leaning over close to the mirror, she stared at her reflection. Black eyes stared back, unending and eternal. She straightened and took in the rest of her reflection, making a half-turn to the left, then the right.
“Madam?”
Tara paused in her observations to look at Mr. Bellum’ reflection. “Yes?”
He glanced at the bed. “Shall we conclude the matter?”
She resumed her self-perusal, raising her arms and flexing her hands open and closed. She slowly lowered them to her sides and took one final glance at herself before turning to face Mr. Bellum. “Yes.” She took a deep, satisfied breath. “Yes, I believe I have done everything I can. . . in this body.”
Mr. Bellum nodded once and gestured with a hand towards the bed. “Madam.”
Tara walked to the opposite side of the bed where Madrine’s body ‘slept,’ and pulled back the plump white comforter. She crawled into the bed and lay on her back, next to Madrine. She pulled the cover back up over her body and rested her arms on the top, at her sides.
Mr. Bellum watched silently, then moved a step away from the bedroom door. He turned to the entrance and held a hand up, gesturing to the bed.
The Creature made its way into the bedroom, its twisted, hideously tumored body lurching forward one slow step at a time. It made its way to the be, rounding the edge till it stood beside Tara. The wet, gurggly sound of its breathing was the only noise in the room. It bent forward, its bones cracking, and hovered over Tara. Tara turned her head and looked into the Creature’s face, no fear evident in her expression at all. The Creature placed a clawed hand on each side of her head and then closed the distance between them, pressing its cracked, bloodied lips over hers. Then, a sound— a wet, wheezing, sucking sound— came from somewhere deep inside its body— and the Creature’s back bowed as it inhaled deeply through its mouth. With another wet, slushing sound, it raised its mouth from Tara’s; a trail of greenish-black, viscous fluid trailed from its lips. The Creature took another soggy breath and jerked its head back sharply, drawing the gelatinous string back up inside its mouth like some foul spaghetti.
As The Creature raised its mouth from Tara’s, her back bowed off of the bed sharply, as if electrocuted; for several seconds she remained that way, paralyzed and arched, her hands clenched in fists, clasping the bedspread. And then, she went limp and collapsed back onto the bed, eyes closed, completely unmoving.
The Creature turned, its body’s open and runny sores pulsing with each step it took. It rounded the bottom of the bed and moved beside Madrine. It paused only for the briefest of moments, before it bent over and took Madrine’s face in its hands; it lifted her head from the pillow and tilted it back until her mouth fell open. Taking a shuddering, soggy breath, The Creature fastened its mouth over Madrine’s. Again, the wet, wheezing sound filled the room as it heaved its broken body in a twisted, convulsing shape as it finished. It lifted its head and licked the discolored excess back into its mouth.
Madrine’s body, like Tara’s, bowed off of the bed, but quickly collapsed again, and remained still.
The Creature turned from Madrine then, its bones cracking as it moved away from the two prone figures. As it approached the door, it raised its hands and rubbed its fingers together, and then looked directly at Mr. Bellum.
Mr. Bellum’s eyes drifted to The Creature’s hands, watching as the digits split open as it rubbed them, bones and sinew poking out again and again and again. He raised his eyes to The Creature and looked into its face. “Your reward will come,” he said simply.
The Creature made no indication that it understood, but turned and walked out of the room, each step slogging over the fine floors with wet, slick echoes.
Mr. Bellum turned to the bed. He clasped his hands together before him and waited.
***
Giles took the necklace from Buffy’s outstretched hand, then carefully laid it back down on the table. He looked at Anya briefly, then back to Buffy. “It’s a focusing crystal,” he said finally.
Buffy glanced at Anya, who only nodded back at her. “And?” The Slayer looked at Giles and raised her eyebrows. “That’s bad?”
“Not by itself, no.” Buffy raised her hands in a frustrated, ‘well, what then?’ gesture. “A focusing crystal has many uses, Buffy. Meditation, centering—”
“Magic,” Anya supplied loudly.
Giles nodded as he frowned. “Yes, Anya, magic. Thank you.”
“I don’t have time for The Magical Mystery Tour, Giles, speak American.”
“American?” he asked. Meeting Buffy’s unwavering gaze, he cleared his throat. “Yes. There are spells— many types of spells— that require some form of catalyst, or focal point, to harness the magic of the caster before the spell can be performed.” Buffy remained unmoving. “A focusing crystal is one of the objects that can be used by a spellcaster to achieve this harnessing.”
“Okay,” Buffy replied, not overly satisfied with the explanation so far.
Giles waited, but Buffy spoke no more. He shifted his feet and continued. “Focusing magic is a lengthy, time-consuming process, Buffy. It isn’t something that someone just ‘does’. It takes training and discipline, and power.”
“Okay.” Buffy glanced at the crystal, then Giles. “I’m still waiting for the bad here.”
Giles took a breath, then adjusted his glasses. “Yes, well I—”
“Oh, for Peter, Paul and Mary’s sakes, Giles!” Anya burst in. She looked at Buffy. “Willow used it.” At Buffy’s silence, Anya continued. “For magic.”
“Willow?” Buffy slowly looked at Giles. “No. . . no, she wouldn’t do that.”
Dawn looked at the crystal as she touched a hand to her throat absently. “Willow did magic?”
“No,” Buffy said too quickly. “She wouldn’t.” Everyone remained silent. Then, “Okay, let’s say, whatever, she did— just this one time. . . .” The Slayer paused briefly. “I still don’t understand,” Buffy said.
Giles shook his head softly. “I’m not sure I entirely do either.”
“But you think. . . .” Buffy said. It was not a question.
He nodded. “Yes. . . well.” He paused as he gathered his thoughts. “We discussed a spell. . . .”
“What?” Buffy asked, incredulous. “When?”
“Ah, on the telephone, after Tara.”
“What?” Buffy asked again.
“Buffy,” Giles said, his tone firm yet calm. “Listen to me. You and I spoke about this— about the spell Tara used to make Willow capable of seeing the demons on the street.”
“I didn’t tell you to tell Willow how to do it!”
“I didn’t!” he answered, somewhat affronted by her accusing tone. “I asked her to tell me about it. What Tara said, what Tara did, how the spell affected her.” Giles took a breath. “I would never encourage Willow to use magic, Buffy. She’s not ready.”
Buffy rubbed her hand across her forehead. “I know. . . I’m sorry.” She looked at the crystal briefly. “I need you to tell me what you think, Giles. What this crystal is, what Willow used it for, what the Hell is going on.” She looked at him.
“Willow told me about the spell Tara used,” he began. “It was unlike any other spell I had heard of before.” Anya quirked her head at this. “From what she said, it appears that Tara used two different spells— she combined them both— to create one spell for her own purpose.” Anya raised both eyebrows. “This new spell, well, it is very, very complex, Buffy. I mean, I don’t even know if I understand it, or if it’s even possible to duplicate it.” Anya frowned. “Tara was able to channel her own magic into Willow, while she insulated Willow against it. She unmasked the monsters and Willow could see them.”
“Yeah, I got that far,” Buffy said.
Giles continued. “Buffy, Willow received the full benefits of Tara’s magicks, but none of the possible adverse side-effects.” Anya raised her eyebrows once more.
“Okay,” Buffy replied, accepting the information but not quite ‘getting’ the meaning. “And the crystal?”
“Yes,” Giles said, taking up the glowing crystal by the string. “As I said, most spellcasters must use some object to harness their magic for casting.” Buffy blinked. “Tara didn’t,” he said simply. Anya’s mouth dropped open slightly. “She didn’t focus, didn’t prepare or meditate, or. . . . She called forth her magic with extraordinary ease and created a spell unto herself, for her own purposes.”
Anya snapped out of her semi-stunned silence. “Mage-magic.”
Buffy and Giles looked at her. “What?” Buffy asked.
“That’s mage-magic,” the Vengeance Demon repeated.
“Mage-magic?” Buffy asked, looking at Giles. “What’s that?”
“No,” Giles said, his gaze staying with Anya. “That’s not possible.”
“Oh?” Anya asked. “Known many mages, have we?”
Giles straightened his shoulders. “Ah, no, but—”
“Well, I have,” Anya replied, looking at Buffy. “Three, to be exact. And that’s a lot, believe me.”
“Someone better explain,” Buffy stated.
Giles tried. “A mage is someone who has practiced magic for a very, very long time. Someone who has practiced good magic, white magic. That lengthy, dedicated practice leads to an ‘intervention,’ as it were, at some time during the practicioner’s life.”
“Intervention?” Buffy asked, confused. “Like AAA?
Giles cleared his throat. “That’s AA, and no.” Taking a breath, he continued. “Think of the intervention, not as a thing, but rather something like, ah, like ‘The Powers That Be.’ They reach out and, basically, sanctify the practicioner with immense, incredible power.” He took a breath. “So much power that the practicioner has the ability to channel magic without any assistance at all, completely on his own.”
“Or her own,” Anya offered.
“So what— Tara’s a mage now?”
“No,” Giles responded immediately. He glanced at Anya. “No, she is not a mage. But,” he paused, nodding his head once at the Vengeance Demon, “she certainly performed a spell that a mage would be capable of performing.” Anya smirked with satisfaction.
Buffy looked at Giles and Anya for a moment longer, then turned her eyes to Dawn. “That cleared it all up, huh?” The teen lifted an eyebrow. The Slayer faced Giles again. When she spoke, there was a frustrated, agitated finality to her tone. “Giles, I don’t have time for this— we don’t have time for this.” She regripped her sword. “Now, tell me.” She looked directly in his eyes. “Short and sweet.”
Giles indicated the crystal. “This isn’t about Tara. It’s about Willow.” Yet again, he set the crystal down on the table. “I think she did that spell.” Everyone remained silent, so he clarified. “That spell Tara did— on Main Street.”
“How?” Buffy asked, somewhat taken aback. “Why?” Buffy asked. “I mean, what for?”
Giles shook his head. “I’m not sure.”
“That’s not good enough, Giles,” Buffy said, shaking her head once. “Why? Tara could already see the monsters. So why? Why that magic?”
Giles shook his head again, then began to rub his forehead absently as he tried to put his jumbled thoughts in order. After several seconds, his eyes snapped up and he raised his index finger towards Buffy. “You said— you told me, on Main Street, you saw Tara, you called out to her, yet she didn’t seem to know you. She looked right through you.”
“And then tried to incinerate you,” Anya added helpfully.
Giles glanced at the Vengeance Demon, annoyed. “Thank you, Anya.” Anya smiled.
“Yeah,” Buffy said, not too thrilled to relive the painful, nightmarish attack.
“What if,” Giles began, tilting his head towards Buffy as he framed his theory. “What if Willow tried the spell— to make Tara ‘see’.” Giles leaned forward, resting his hands on the back of the chair.
Buffy’s brow creased. “‘See’? See what? See Me?”
“No,” Giles said, then quickly corrected himself. “I mean, yes, of course, you. And Dawn and Anya, Xander, even Willow herself. Everything.”
“Then when she—” Dawn began, glancing at Buffy’s arms. “Tara didn’t know it was Buffy?”
“No.” Giles cleared his throat. “Er, I mean yes,” he said, “if I’m correct at all, yes, I think Tara didn’t know it was Buffy.”
Buffy looked at her sister, then put a hand on her shoulder and winked. The teen smiled softly. Buffy looked at Giles again. “Okay,” she said. “So Willow did this spell. . . how?” Buffy tipped her head to the table. “She used that crystal?”
“That doesn’t make any sense,” Anya said, shaking her head. When all eyes turned her direction, she continued. “How would she know Giles would bring a focusing crystal with him?” She shook her head.
Buffy looked at Giles. The Watcher shifted, then raised a hand to adjust his glasses. “You told her?”
Giles held a hand up. “No,” he said. “Not exactly.”
“How ‘exactly’ were you, Giles?” Buffy asked.
Giles lowered his hand to the chairback again. “She asked if I thought I could perform the spell.” Buffy nodded. “I said, maybe, yes, if I had the right ingredients or—”
“Object,” Anya said, nodding before crossing her arms over her chest. “That’s good, Giles. Not exact at all.”
“Wait,” Buffy said, shaking her head. “This still doesn’t make any sense. It doesn’t matter what you said— what you’d need or what you’d bring. She didn’t know. She didn’t wait.”
“No,” he said.
“How would she know when you were here? That you just-so-happened to bring the precise ‘object’ she needed?” Buffy’s frustration was quickly mounting. “She didn’t even take it.”
Anya snapped her fingers and pointed her index finger in the air triumphantly. “The Hope Chest!”
“What?” Giles asked, looking at the Vengeance Demon as if she had lost her mind completely.
Buffy’s brow knit together as she stared at Anya. She closed her eyes briefly before looking at Giles. “Willow’s Hope Chest— she took something from it.”
“What did she take?” Giles asked.
Buffy shook her head. “I’m not sure what it was.”
“You ‘shit’ a lot,” Anya said.
“What!” Buffy and Dawn and Giles all said simultaneously.
“Gutterminds.” Anya sighed. “Upstairs,” she said, flailing her hands in the air as if she was digging through something and tossing the items away. “Shit! Shit! Shit!” After a slight pause. “‘God damn it’,” she finished and lowered her arms to her sides.
Buffy remembered her constant string of profanities upon finding the Hope Chest opened and something missing. She looked at Giles. “It— it was something of Tara’s.”
“A magical something?” Dawn asked.
Buffy glanced at the teen before returning her gaze to Giles. “I don’t know. Everything in there was Tara’s— or something Tara had given her.” She glanced at the glowing crystal.
Giles nodded and adjusted his glasses. “We have to assume it was something. . . .” He paused as he looked for the exact phrase. “. . . to help her.”
“So, if Willow took something to do the spell,” Dawn began, then pointed at the glowing crystal, “what’s with that?”
“I don’t know,” Giles responded simply.
After several seconds of silence passed, Buffy began to nod her head. “Okay,” she said outloud. “Whatever Willow took, she used it. If she did a spell,” she continued, glancing at Dawn, “then she’s alive. And if she’s alive, and she did a spell, then Tara’s alive.” She looked at Giles and held his gaze. Then she stepped back from the table and hefted her sword. She faced Dawn. Although tears welled up in the teen’s eyes, Dawn lifted her chin and tried to smile. Buffy lifted her free hand and touched her sister’s face briefly, then dropped it and moved around her. She walked to the kitchen and paused just inside the doorway; she turned and faced the group. Her eyes met Anya’s “Do what you can,” she began, her gaze moving to Giles. “Find out what you can,” she continued, tipping her head to the glowing crystal before looking at Dawn. “Be careful.”
All three stood silent as Buffy addressed them. They stood silent as Buffy turned and swiftly moved through the kitchen and out the door.
Into the darkness.
***
Madrine’s eyes opened. She blinked slowly.
“Madam,” Mr. Bellum said, his voice soft and low.
Madrine shifted beneath the comforter and then slowly sat up. Her eyes found Mr. Bellum standing at the foot of her bed, looking at her with a genuine concern in his eyes. She raised her hand and looked at it, turning it over several times.
“Are you well, Madam?”
Madrine wiped her fingers across her lips, removing the last vestiges of the Creature and then lowered her hand. “Yes,” she answered, slowly turning her head towards Tara, not surprised at all to find the blonde there, laying on her back, unmoving, eyes closed.
“She lives,” Mr. Bellum stated.
Madrine looked at him briefly, then back to Tara. “Yes,” she said, reaching her hand out to touch the blonde’s face. Madrine stroked her hand over Tara’s cheek before she turned to rise from the bed. She stood up, waiting till her balance returned before walking towards Mr. Bellum. Once beside him, she looked back at Tara. “She will sleep now.”
“Yes, Madam.”
“She is to be undisturbed.”
“Yes, Madam.”
Madrine stared at Tara’s sleeping form for several more seconds. Then, she faced her servant. “I must eat.”
“Yes, Madam,” Mr. Bellum said, holding his arm out towards the bedroom door.
Madrine walked to the door and paused briefly. “No disturbances.”
“Yes, Madam.”
Madrine nodded and moved out of the bedroom and down the hallway. Mr. Bellum walked close behind, shutting the door softly as he followed his mistress.
***
Always and forever.
Tara eyes fluttered.
Always and forever.
Tara’s brow drew together.
Always and forever.
Tara squeezed her eyes tightly shut, then slowly opened them. Whiteness assailed her senses, instantly forcing her eyelids closed. She moaned softly, turning her head away from the blinding color; another moan slipped from her as the muscles in her neck screamed at her movement. Tara tried to lift her hand, to massage away the pain, but she couldn’t. Her body felt like led, heavy and unmoving, completely foreign, completely detached from herself. Taking a quick breath, she tried again. But again, nothing happened. What. . . .
Feeling a panic rising inside, Tara blinked her eyes open and forced them to remain that way, despite the pain. White stormed at her senses, flooded them, but she refused to relent. She tried to focus on her surroundings, tried to make sense of them. White walls, white curtains, white carpet, everything white. . . and loud. . . and stark.
Her eyes shifted, trying to take in more of the room from where she lay. Stark mahogany bed posts. That was all. She knew, inside, that she would have to get up, she would have to force herself up, before she would find the answers she needed.
She blinked. White. Everywhere. White. Mahogany bed posts. And white. Tara’s brow furrowed. A feeling of familiarity came over her, but, at the same time, another feeling emerged from deep within. A feeling of uneasiness and. . .
Always and forever.
. . . this. . . this. . . .
Tara squeezed her hands. . . surprised, and slightly frightened, when they actually responded. She gripped at the downy comforter covering her, grasping the material tightly. Her breath came quickly again, staccato in the still silence of the room.
Always and forever.
. . . isn’t. . . .
Always and forever.
Always and forever.
Tara took a deep breath in and held it. Using every fiber of her being, Tara pushed her body against the bed beneath her, straining against the fatigue, straining against the invisible weight oppressing her. As her body responded to her unspoken commands, Tara found herself sitting upright; she released the breath from her lungs, not surprised when pain seared behind her eyes even as white, sparkly stars popped before them.
Taking slow, even breaths, Tara took hold of the white comforter and pulled it off of her legs; she slid them over the side of the bed until, at last, her feet touched the carpet. She licked her lips, and grimaced at the rancid taste; she wiped the back of her hand over her mouth several times. Slowly, Tara used her hands to carefully push herself up onto her feet, and once there, she stood motionless, waiting for the vertigo to subside. She swallowed, then faced the center of the room.
Whiteness surrounded her.
Everywhere.
Everything.
White.
Empty.
Void.
Cold.
Her eyes passed over a small, white vanity with accompanying mirror, and across the vast room, before they fell upon a floor-length Triptych mirror. Tara found herself staring at the mirror, frozen . . . .
Always and forever.
Tara’s brow furrowed. That voice. . . .
Always and forever.
. . . her voice. . . . Again and again and again, echoing in her mind, growing louder, growing more. . . . Tara closed her eyes, raised a hand to rub her fingers over them, to rub against the haunting voice, to rub against the torrent of confusion.
Taking a deep breath, Tara dropped her hand to her side and opened her eyes. She swallowed, then licked at her parched lips before she moved, almost hesitantly, further into the room. She felt compelled to go to the mirror, yet her steps were cautious and measured, as if unsure of her own footing. . . or what she was moving towards.
Tara’s mind was empty, vacant of any word or thought, yet it seemed overflowing with images and sounds, a dismantled jigsaw puzzle of picture pieces waiting for her to set them right. And Tara knew that was the most important thing, that she solve the puzzle; that to know where she was, what was happening, all of it was somehow tied up in that puzzle. She would make the pieces fit, and once complete, the pictures would tell her the whole story. Tara couldn’t form the thoughts she needed to do this, but she knew there was something about the mirror, something about it that would help her.
She stopped before the mirror, staring blindly at her three-way reflection. She recognized herself. She knew who she was. Tara. . . Tara Maclay. . . . She let her eyes look at the reflected room behind her, around her. Her heartbeat picked up its beat, and she felt a tremble pass through her. . . . this. . . .
She didn’t recognize it.
Not. Any. Of. It.
. . . isn’t. . . .
Her focus returned to her own image. Long, blonde hair. Pale skin. Blue eyes. She rasied her hand and took hold of the amulet hanging around her throat, her fingers stroking over the smooth pendant momentarily before releasing it and letting her hand drop back to her side. Then her eyes lifted, traveled to the top of the mirror, and scanned the frame edge from the end of one mirror to the end of the second to the end of the third.
Tara’s brows drew together. An almost audible click sounded in the room as a small piece of the puzzle snapped into place. With movements more sure, Tara walked towards the left side of the mirror, and after swallowing against the sudden dryness in her throat, she stepped around the back side.
It took her eyes a moment to adjust to the shapes and contours of the carved backing, but when they did, she realized that the carvings were actual images. Her eyes pored over each and every one, again and again and again. Earth. . . moon. . . sun. . . stars. . . monsters ascending into the skies. . . a monster biting a woman. . . a baby. . . a cross. . . two women facing one another. . . death and destruction. . . .
Tara’s heart was suddenly pounding in her chest, and she released a breath she hadn’t realized she had been holding. She squeezed her eyes shut as her lips began to move silently in an attempt to calm her escalating heart rate. Breathe. . . breathe. . . breathe. . . .
Opening her eyes once more, Tara focused on the carvings, reaching out to run her fingertips over each in turn. Earth. . . moon. . . sun. . . stars. . . monsters ascending into the skies. . . a monster biting a woman. . . a baby. . . a cross. . . two women facing one another. . . death and destruction. . . .
A strange tickling feeling began in the pit of her stomach as the images seamlessly tumbled and fell into place. I. . . I. . . know. . . this. . . . “I. . . ” she began, but broke off as a memory crashed into her consciousness.
“You, Tara Maclay. . . you are the fly.”
She brought her other hand up to the carved surface, resting it against the smoothed, glossy surface in an attempt to steady herself. More memories came, thundering, unrelenting.
. . . Tara brought the sword down in a powerful arc. . . Cassandra’s head separated from her body and rolled onto it’s side. . . .
“Oh. . . God. . . .”
Tara bore down on her, feeling the magic well up inside her. . . “L’ustione!”
Tara covered her mouth with a trembling hand.
Tara clutched the edge of the toilet and leaned over, her body convulsing uncontrollably as another wave of nausea struck.
She dropped her hand from the back of the mirror and stepped back.
The Gold Child slid her hand from Tara’s forehead to her right cheek. “Ease your mind,” she said quietly, leaning down. “Rest your soul.”
The Raven Child’s hand shifted from Tara’s heart to her left cheek. “No more pain,” she said, mirroring her sister as she bowed low. “You will be whole.”
Tara moved away from the back of the mirror, almost stumbling around to its front.
On the altar, Tara’s body went ramrod straight, then her chin thrust upwards as her upper body arched off the stone surface of the altar.
She stood in front of the center mirror. She looked at her reflection, stared at her whole body trembling.
Tara turned from the bed and proceeded across the floor, passing Mr. Bellum as she walked out of the room. “Show me.”
Tara stepped closer to the mirror, until she was only inches away. She stared into the glass, stared into her own eyes.
“Yes.” Tara walked over to Willow and stopped a few feet away. “Yes, you are sorry.” Tara leaned over as she spoke. “You are very sorry.”
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I'm not the best at AOL, but have used it for years. Drop me a note and I'll do whatever I can to hasten an update! 
Dibs wow this is great and welcome back 
